Markham, Gervase / Sampson, William · published 1622 · first performed or written 1622 [c.1619-1622] (Annals) tragedy · Red Bull (Revels) Company (first) · Red Bull T38 Death, parting and grief at court typicality 0.90 · 481 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
Sir, I know Your wisdom such, as can discern what 'tis At once to fear, to suffer, and to die, By th'hand of stern ambition; which, i'th' end, Makes still her habitation like the place Where poison grows, so naked and so bare That dust disdains t'abide there. Passing true; But I'll root out that vengeance: yet again, When I awake my memory, to look Upon her sweetness, goodness, and conceive, That no affair, no wisdom, or fond zeal, Which oft attainteth others, could touch her; O then, methinks, I might at least have breathed, Before I had condemned her; justice should Ith' dark of these confusions, borne a Torch Before Truth and mine anger: but alas, Folly and Rashness led me; and I've lost All my delight at one throw. Antipater, Go, run, fly; O, stay the Execution. Willingly. Yet please you first to think Whether the act hurt not your Majesty; Kings, in these weighty causes, must not play At fast and loose; their words are Oracles; And judgement should pursue them. Good, no more; go stay the Execution. Not on earth is there a man more willing; Yet, when Kings condemn themselves of rashness, Who can blame contempt to follow after? Lord to see how time is lost with talking. I am gone. Yet Sir, believe't; the Majesty which strikes Against contempt shall ne'er recover it. Yet again. Sir, I can vanish quickly; yet, behold, here's one can save my labour. Speak my Lord; where is my Queen? O, where's my Marriam? Sir, she is dead. Dead? Be the world dead with her; for on earth There's no life but her glory: yet declare How died the woeful Lady? Like a Saint. Like did I say? O Sir, so far beyond, That never Saint came near her precedent: She did not go, as one that had been led To take a violent parting; but as Fate Had in her own hands thrust her Destiny, Saying, or live or die: whilst she, that knew The one and th'other's goodness, did agree Only to die as th'act most excellent. Her Mother's bitter railings, all the cries Of the amazed People, moved not her; No not one poor small twinkle of her eye: But, with a constancy, that would outface The brazen front of terror; she ascends up to the fatal Scaffold; and but once Looked round about the people: then lifts up Her snow-white hands to Heaven; Talks to it as if she had been in it: then falls down Upon her humble knees; which, as they bent, You might behold humility retire down to her heart; and left within her eyes Nothing but sweetness flaming: whilst upon And round about her, Majesty did hang, And cloth her as a garment: to be brief, She took the stroke, not as a punishment; But a reward; so Saintlike hence she went.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T6 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Sir, I know Your wisedome such, as can discerne what tis At once to feare, to suffer, and to dye, By th'hand of sterne ambition; which, ith' end, Makes still her habitation like the place Where poyson growes, so naked and so bare That dust disdaines t'abide there. Passing true; But Ile root out that vengeance: yet againe, When I awake my memory, to looke Vpon her sweetnesse, goodnesse, and conceiue, That no affaire, no wisedome, or fond zeale, Which oft attainteth others, could touch her; O then, me thinkes, I might at least haue breath'd, Before I had condemn'd her; Iustice should Ith darke of these confusions, borne a Torch Before Truth and mine anger: but alas, Folly and Rashnesse led me; and I'ue lost All my delight at one throw. Antipater, Goe, runne, flye; O, stay the Execution. Willingly. Yet please you first to thinke Whether the act hurt not your Maiestie; Kings, in these waighty causes, must not play At fast and loose; their wordes are Oracles; And iudgement should pursue them. Good, no more; goe stay the Execution. Not on earth is there a man more willing; Yet, when Kings condemne themselues of rashnesse, Who can blame contempt to follow after? Lord to see how time is lost with talking. I am gone. Yet Sir, beleeu't; the Maiesty which strikes Against contempt shall nere recouer it. Yet againe. Sir, I can vanish quickly; yet, behold, Heere's one can saue y labour. Speake my Lord; where is my Queene? O, where's my Marriam? Sir, she is dead. Dead? Be the world dead with her; for on earth There's no life but her glory: yet declare How dyed the wofull Lady? Like a Saint. Like did I say? O Sir, so farre beyond, That neuer Saint came neere her president: She did not goe, as one that had beene led To take a violent parting; but as Fate Had in her owne hands thrust her Destiny, Saying, or liue or dye: whilst she, that knew The one and th'others goodnesse, did agree Onely to dye as th'act most excellent. Her Mothers bitter railings, all the cries Of the amazed People, mou'd not her; No not one poore small twinckle of her eye: But, with a constancie, that would outface The brazen front of terror; she assends Vp to the fatall Scaffold; and but once Lookt round about the people: then lifts vp Her snow-white hands to Heauen; Talkes to it as if she had beene in it: then fals downe Vpon her humble knees; which, as they bent, You might behold humility retire Downe to her heart; and left within her eyes Nothing but sweetnesse flaming: whilst vpon And round about her, Maiestie did hang, And cloath her as a garment: to be briefe, Shee tooke the stroke, not as a punishment; But a reward; so Saint-like hence she went.